


A Simple Touch

by Breezy_Blue



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, M/M, Multi, OT4, Ranger Matsukawa Issei, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2020-07-24 18:54:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20019361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breezy_Blue/pseuds/Breezy_Blue
Summary: Four boys who no longer exist in the eyes of the public. One faked his own death to preserve his freedom. One was betrayed by family with nowhere to go. One ran away to protect the crown. One has family lost to legend. Four different boys. Four different Gifts. One common enemy.





	1. Matsukawa Issei

**Author's Note:**

> I really should've been writing the next chapter to my 5 + 1 Suga-centric fic but here's a new fic that has been thrown around in my head~
> 
> Please give this fic a chance >.<

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matsukawa Issei's Backstory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok if you're a returning reader, I swear that the Iwaizumi and Oikawa chapters will appear in the future. I went over my notes and decided to change the order of the plot. This is for the best :D

Matsukawa Chika was making her way up the mountain, a basket of bread swinging from its place on her wrist. She got a good deal in the marketplace for the apple seedlings she traded away, so tonight, she and her husband, Masato, could rest easy with the knowledge they had enough food for the week.

A flowering vine sprouted from her hair in her excitement and she tucked it behind her ear. There was no need to control her Gift now that she was back in the mountains. Finally glimpsing the lone cottage up ahead, she quickened her pace until she reached the gate. Matsukawa Chika reached over the gate to unlatch it from the other side, calling out, “I’m home!” She pushed the gate closed with a small click of the latch. Chika furrowed her eyebrows; there was no response – was Masato still out chopping wood? “Honey?”

She was met by an answering cry and she blinked, slowly setting her basket down. That definitely wasn’t Masato. Was that a baby? It sounded like the cry came from the back. Chika cautiously made her way towards the back of the cottage. To the extent of her knowledge, she and Masato were the only ones living on the mountain. Turning the corner, she let out a small involuntary gasp.

There was a baby swaddled in a blanket on the ground just outside the white picket fence. Bordering the cottage at the back was the forest, no doubt that whoever left the baby came through the forest. Glancing around, Chika used her Gift, watching as her vines extended to reach for the bundle.

The remnants of another Gift remained, surrounding the baby with a silver glow. The vines gently cradled the bundle, the movement causing the baby to fuss. Chika hushed the baby, the vines bringing the bundle into her arms. Rocking the baby, she noticed a note tucked into the blanket. As soon as she freed the note from the folds of the blanket, the remnants of the unknown Gift dissipated. Chika’s eyebrows furrowed at that, but she turned her attention to the note.

_His name is Issei._

_His father was a Ranger._

_As his mother, I’m using the last of my Gift to protect him._

_Please protect him in the ways I no longer can._

Chika stifled her gasp of horror. The baby- no, Issei, was now an orphan. She didn’t miss how the note stated, “his father was.” It was no secret that Rangers, the elite guard fiercely loyal to the royal family, often encountered danger as part of their profession. And she should have made the connection when the unknown Gift dissipated. At that exact moment, Issei’s mother left the world. Chika lowered her head in a moment of silence for the poor family that was ripped apart all too soon.

The moment of silence was interrupted by a click of a latch. “I’m home.” Masato’s voice rang out. Chika froze, glancing at the bundle in her arms. “Why’s the basket left outside? Honey?”

Clearing her throat, Chika prayed that her voice didn’t sound too shaky, “I’m in the back. And… please don’t freak out.”

Masato rounded the corner, “Why would I frea- Is that a child?” He slowly approached her. “Where did he come from?”

“I came home and heard a cry. I found him right on the edge of the woods.” Chika gestured to the area past the fence. “This note came with him.” She passed the note to him.

Masato often wore his heart on his sleeve. The rollercoaster of emotions on his face would’ve almost been comical if they weren’t in this situation. Masato met her gaze. “So this little guy’s name is-”

“Matsukawa Issei.” Chika finished his sentence.

Masato smirked at her, “Stole the words right out of my mouth.”

In truth, the situation ran much deeper than that. Matsukawa Masato and Matsukawa Chika were unable to conceive for years. After so many attempts, they gave up on the possibility of becoming parents. At this point, they were old enough to be considered grandparents. However, their resolve to raise a child, regardless of biological relation, won out and Matsukawa Issei became the newest member of the family.

➳➳➳➳

Through the years, Masato and Chika proudly watched Issei grow up. While Issei grew taller and stronger, the passage of time was catching up with Masato and Chika. Their hair, jet black when Issei was a toddler, was now streaked with gray. Slowly but surely, Issei began to take over most of the work around the cottage and down the mountain.

Masato sighed as he watched Issei shoulder the goods he was to trade down the mountain.

Chika shuffled up next to him, leaning on her cane. “You know, it feels like only yesterday that we took him in,” she rasps.

Masato tilted his head towards his wife, “Remember when he discovered his Gift?”

Chika chuckled, “How could I forget? He nearly gave me a heart attack. But his Gift looked almost an exact copy of his birth mother’s.”

_At the age of five, Issei channeled much of his energy into scaling every available surface. When Masato would still bring Chika the wildflowers he picked on the way home, she would put them in a vase on the dresser. The bright colors only drew Issei’s attention, and while his mother’s back was turned, he scrabbled up the dresser._

_Using the knobs as handholds and footholds, Issei’s climbing caused the dresser to wobble slightly. The continued disturbance soon toppled the vase over and it fell off the dresser, shattering on the floor. In his shock, Issei let go of the dresser knobs._

_At the sound of glass shattering, Chika rushed over to the bedroom just to witness Issei falling. “NO!” She shrieked, her Gift extending her vines to catch Issei. But she was too slow. Issei landed on the glass shards. There was a shocked silence and then Issei burst into tears._

_Chika’s heart and stomach felt as if they’ve switched places. She quickly lifted Issei with her vines, clearing the glass shards on the floor. Setting him down, she checked for any sign of blood. Issei had just landed on glass – he was bound to have serious injuries._

_To her amazement, there wasn’t a single scratch on Issei, and Chika saw a sight she hadn’t seen in years. A silver glow enveloped the crying boy, reminiscent of the sight years ago. Issei’s Gift looked exactly like his birth mother’s. Chika shushed the boy, drawing him into a hug, “Congratulations, honey. You’ve just discovered your Gift.”_

Masato grinned, “Well it wasn’t the worst way to discover your Gift.”

Chika smacked him playfully, “Says the man who only saw the aftermath of it.”

“We’ve become too sentimental,” Masato murmured. “This is bad – another sign of old age.”

Unimpressed, Chika raised an eyebrow. “As if this wasn’t enough of a sign,” she gestured to their graying hair. Masato scowled playfully and they began teasing each other. Their light-hearted bickering was interrupted by Issei coming back up the path. His Gift was activated,and they could clearly see the silver glow surrounding the crates he got from the marketplace.

“Issei!” Chika called out, “You took longer than usual.”

Issei scratched his head bashfully, “Sorry, just had a lot on my mind.” Masato and Chika exchanged glances. “Just- can we talk after dinner?” Issei continued. He set the crates down, waving a hand to dismiss the silver glow.

Masato nodded, waving him inside, “Dinner will be ready in half an hour.”

Dinner was a quiet affair, with Issei being uncharacteristically quiet, a far cry from the teen who would tease them endlessly at mealtimes. After they took their last bites of rice, Masato took the empty dishes to the sink. Turning on the faucet, he willed his Gift to bend the water to wash the dishes. Issei wordlessly set the rest of the dishes down in the sink while Chika wiped the table off. When all was done, they gathered in the small living room.

Issei opened his mouth, “I-” He looked away, lip curling as he struggled to find the words.

Masato took the plunge, “You’re asking to leave home, right?” Issei’s instant look of guilt signaled that Masato was right on the dot. He sighed, “You know, we’ve been preparing ourselves for the day you’d leave home. Actually, we’ve been preparing ever since you learned about your birth father and mother.”

_Issei was thirteen when he asked about the circumstances of him joining the family. It was a clear evening and they were gathered in the living room. Masato and Chika exchanged looks before Chika wordlessly got up to retrieve the note. With bated breath, she handed it over to Issei, who accepted it with trembling fingers._

_Moments passed, but it felt like several long years. Tears began welling up within Issei’s eyes and to his surprise, he found himself crying. “I- why am I crying- they’ve been gone for yea-” He was cut off by his parents hugging him._

_Masato choked out, “Family is family, no matter how long you’ve been separated. It’s ok to cry for something you never had. But just know we took you in and love you from the bottom of our hearts.”_

_Chika sniffled, wrapping her arms tighter around Issei, “Did we ever tell you that your Gift is extremely similar to your birth mother’s?” She let him go, “One day I was coming back home from the marketplace when I heard a cry…”_

_Chika recounted the entire story on how she found him, and Masato jumped in towards the end. “And I said, ‘So this little guy’s name is-’ but your mother stole the words right out of my mouth by saying ‘Matsukawa Issei.’”_

_“You’re Matsukawa Issei and don’t you forget that.”_

“And to be honest,” Chika offered, “We’ve been making our own preparations to settle back down the mountain. We’re getting old and it’s getting harder to support ourselves.”

Issei smiled wryly, “Did you just realize you’re getting old?”

“Brat.” Chika shot back, “But you’re leaving to become a Ranger, no?”

Issei nodded, “I want to understand the kind of life my birth father led.”

“Despite it being a dangerous life?” Masato interjected.

“Even despite that,” was Issei’s immediate answer.

Chika took a deep breath and exhaled. “Well who are we to stop you? It’s a large world out there and your youth is wasted here with us.” She blinked, tilting her head up at the teen. “Make sure you stay safe.”

Masato smiled, “You have our blessing.”

➳➳➳➳

Eventually the day came that the couple would move down the mountain. With heavy hearts, the three of them carried all worldly possessions down the mountain and into a quaint cottage on the outskirts of town.

Issei traced all doorways and windows with his fingers. A silver glow pulsed underneath the wood. He nodded to himself – this would give him some peace of mind. If he was to leave his parents, then the traces of his Gift would protect them. Back outside, Chika, Masato, and Issei shared a long hug.

Issei straightened up and in the back of his mind, he wondered when he got so tall. He now towered over both of his parents. “Well I’ll be going now,” he shouldered his knapsack. “See ya guys.” He turned down the path through the forest, a hand waving dismissively behind him. Because his back was turned, Issei didn’t see how his parent’s smiles shone despite the tears streaming down their faces.

Chika turned towards Masato, “He’ll be alright – look how grown up he already is.”

➳➳➳➳

Matsukawa Issei was deep into the forest when he realized how out of depth he was. “You don’t seek the Rangers, but the Rangers seek you.” That was a popular saying among the townsfolk thanks to the elusive nature of the Rangers.

Matsukawa massaged his temples; he could feel a headache creeping up on him. But that was strange, he seldom got headaches. Something was wrong. Instantly on alert, his gut feeling was proven right when he felt the tip of a knife poking his back.

“Your money or your life,” a gravelly voice rasped from behind him.

Matsukawa raised both hands up in the air and behind him, he heard chuckles. There was more than one person behind him. Any one of those people had Matsukawa under his Gift. While his hands were up in the air, he activated his own Gift, the silver glow carefully hidden under his travel cloak.

Slowly turning around, Matsukawa regarded the bandits before him. It was a group of seven men – the odds were against him. Matsukawa subtly shifted his weight to the balls of his feet when suddenly, a Ranger landed on his feet next to him.

There was a ripple of surprise amongst the bandits and they all took an unconscious step back. Matsukawa blinked.

What the absolute fuck – did the Ranger next to him just leap from the tree branches? Those were fifteen feet up!

His musings were interrupted by the bandits, who got over their shock and rushed the two of them. Eyes flashing dangerously, the Ranger took on four of them head on. Matsukawa couldn’t help but gawk at his fighting style. It was extremely fluid, his dodges and attacks were seamlessly linked together. Did his fighting style have to do with the Ranger’s Gift? Unfortunately, the current situation didn’t allow for further observation.

The other three bandits rushed him and Matsukawa was on the defensive. Ducking under the first knife, he grabbed the perpetrator’s wrist and threw him over his shoulder, ruining their approach. Concentrating his Gift in his legs, he turned to kick another bandit in the midsection, sending him into his remaining partner. Panting, he surveyed his surroundings only to find that the Ranger, as well as the four he was facing, was gone. A knife whizzed by his head to embed itself into the tree trunk behind him. Shit, he should’ve confiscated that knife when he threw that bandit. Turning back to where the three bandits should’ve been, he was met with the sight of the seven bandits tied up.

Matsukawa didn’t have much time to wonder when a voice drawled above him, “You know, you have potential. But you’re full of rookie mistakes.”

Matsukawa whipped around in time to see the Ranger drop down besides him. Again. Matsukawa backed away, clutching his heart. For the love of all that is holy, could the Ranger just stop doing that?

“For example, not confiscating their knives.” The Ranger bent down to pick up two knives from the ground. “Anyone could sneak up on you after you let your guard down – like so.” The Ranger flipped the knife and the blade was against Matsukawa’s throat.

Matsukawa backed away, only to feel another knife digging into his back. “Your hand-to-hand combat is admirable,” the Ranger removed the knives, “But you lack experience.” He took a step back, giving Matsukawa a lookover. Humming in assent, the Ranger tilted his chin, “What’s your name?”

Matsukawa glanced nervously at the knives in the Ranger’s grip. “Matsukawa Is-”

A blade was once again pressed against Matsukawa’s throat. “Wrong. First rule of a Ranger – never give out your full name. In fact, try not to give your name at all. Now, what’s your Gift.”

Matsukawa was starting to get sick of being interrogated at knifepoint. “I’m not required to tell you,” he replied frostily. Internally, he started kicking himself – now definitely wasn’t the time to sass the Ranger.

To Matsukawa’s surprise, the Ranger tilted his head back and laughed boisterously. “Good, good! The fledgling is catching on.” The Ranger removed the knife from Matsukawa’s throat and lowered the hood of his cloak to reveal a stern-looking face with many laugh lines. He smiled, brown eyes twinkling, “You’ll make a great apprentice.”

Matsukawa blinked. Him? A fledgling? A great apprentice?

The Ranger was already heading back, grabbing the bindings of the bandits. He looked up at Matsukawa, who was still frozen in shock, “What are you waiting for? Don’t tell me you’re already regretting your apprenticeship.”

Matsukawa snapped out of his stupor, “Yes sir!” He made his way towards the defeated bandits.

The Ranger paused, somewhat dumfounded. “Sir? Call me Takashi.” He muttered to the side, “I don’t seem _that_ old, do I?” He sighed, turning back to Matsukawa. “In case you were wondering, that’s my real surname. Only fair since I know yours.” He hoisted the ropes of the bandits over his shoulder. “Now, time to bring them to the nearest town.”

“Takashi-san, if you’ll allow me,” Matsukawa interjected. At Takashi’s nod, Matsukawa took the ropes, tapping the foreheads of every unconscious bandit. Soon, they were all enveloped in a silver glow of his Gift. Matsukawa gestured for Takashi to take the ropes again.

Takashi’s eyes belied his grudging admiration for the application of Matsukawa’s Gift. It was much lighter now. But it was interesting – had the fledgling never considered that his mentor’s Gift could’ve been used?

The rest of the way to the nearest town, Matsukawa mused, was uneventful. ‘You don’t seek the Rangers, but the Rangers seek you.’ If only the townspeople back at home knew just how true that statement was. It was surprisingly easy gaining an apprenticeship thanks to that.

➳➳➳➳

Turns out, gaining the apprenticeship was the easiest part. Matsukawa regretted ever thinking the road to becoming a Ranger was easy. Groaning from his place on the ground, Matsukawa sat up, spitting dirt out of his mouth and rubbing at his sore muscles.

Takashi grinned at him from above, already in another fighting stance. “Fledgling of mine left his entire left side open. You can’t blame me for taking advantage of that.”

Matsukawa rolled his eyes at him, “You just want an excuse to pummel me. But,” he glared up at Takashi, “You look awfully comfortable up there – this fledgling is going show you how to fly.”

Takashi only smirked, “I’d like to see you try, fledgling.”

➳➳➳➳

It took two more months. Two more months of dodging, hitting the ground, and getting pinned. Two more months of soreness, sweat, bruises, and cuts. It took Matsukawa two more months to end a sparring session with Takashi with a decisive win.

Matsukawa panted heavily, chest heaving as he straddled Takashi’s back, pinning Takashi’s hands behind him. “This fledgling just showed you, hm?” Matsukawa mocked, before releasing him.

“Oh please,” Takashi grinned, rolling over, “Wait ‘til you learn how to fly. To do that, we need to branch hop.” He raised an eyebrow at Matsukawa, waiting for him to react.

“If the branch hopping we’re doing is the same stunt you pull on me for shits and giggles, leave me out of it.” Matsukawa deadpanned, “Or else I’ll become what I’ve feared the most.”

Takashi decidedly ignored him, either out of spite or not, Matsukawa couldn’t tell. The next morning, Takashi led him to one of the largest trees in the forest.

“You’re fucking with me.” Matsukawa muttered.

“I’m not, young fledgling. Now go! Climb!” Takashi clapped, mirth shining in his eyes.

“Fucker.”

It was only three weeks later that Matsukawa landed first in their race across the forest.

“See? You’re a natural at this, despite your lumbering appearance.” Takashi jested.

“My what? You know what, never mind.” Matsukawa drained his waterskin, “How do you land so lightly from so high up?”

Takashi pressed a finger to his lips. “I use my Gift. Now the question is, how do you use your own Gift to help you land lightly?”

That night, Matsukawa snuck out to experiment. Takashi’s statement was rather curious. For the extent of his apprenticeship, they never used their Gifts extensively. This was probably to keep each other from knowing their strengths and weaknesses, despite their teacher-student relationship. He guessed that even Rangers drew boundaries amongst themselves.

Standing on a low branch of a tree, Matsukawa tested his footing. Taking a deep breath, he leapt down, and silver footholds appeared below him. Unsurprisingly, he went crashing to the ground. Rubbing his jaw, Matsukawa tested the hardness of the footholds. What if he were to create “softer” footholds to break his fall, to slow his momentum? Could he make footholds disappear after a certain amount of time? And thus began his late-night experimentation.

Takashi was no fool. His student was sneaking out to experiment with his Gift. It was considered an unofficial rite of passage in apprenticeships. Then, he mused, Matsukawa is almost ready to be initiated.

Weeks passed and the sixth-month mark of Matsukawa’s apprenticeship was coming up. After an intense sparring session with daggers, Takashi brought it up. “You know, I think you’re ready to be initiated.”

Matsukawa whipped around in disbelief. “Already? It’s only been six months?”

Takashi raised an eyebrow, “And weren’t they a productive six months? Additionally, I have personal matters to attend to for the upcoming Ranger Conference.” He scratched the back of his head. “The initiation is comprised of tests of ability that you’re supposed to surpass your mentor on a majority of – which you already have, so there’s no need to be worried. I taught you well. But afterwards, you receive your cloak and are made to swear fealty.”

Matsukawa could only blink, dumbfounded. Wasn’t the process a bit too streamlined?

A week later, Matsukawa went through with the initiation. The initiation was a quiet matter, with another Ranger standing as witness. His ability with the bow, dagger, and staff was tested. Hand-to-hand combat was tested through who prevailed in the use of their Gift. Needless to say, thanks to Takashi’s strict teachings, Matsukawa passed with flying colors.

The Ranger standing witness bowed to the two of them, a sign of acknowledgement to their mentor-student relationship. He then produced a cloak identical to the ones he and Takashi wore. He presented it to Matsukawa, who silently accepted the cloak. From behind, Takashi recited the pledge. “Do you, Ranger in all but name, swear fealty to the crown? Will you pledge to become one with the shadows of the crown? Know that you will forever be marked as a Ranger, as a shadow of the crown if you so pledge.”

Matsukawa nods, the words coming easily. “I do so pledge myself to the crown and pledge myself to its shadows. May the mark I bear be a sign of fealty.” As soon as he finished his pledge, a small warmth began spreading from the base of his neck. The heat grew in intensity until Matsukawa was gritting his teeth in pain. But almost as soon as it began, the heat dissipated and Matsukawa was left grasping the back of his neck. His lip curled in amusement. Takashi never told him about how much it hurt – probably to spite him.

The Ranger and Takashi echoed, “So be it.” The Ranger lowered his hood to reveal a tattooed pair of black wings on the base of his neck. Takashi also pulled down his collar to reveal an identical pair of wings. “We greet you, fellow Ranger.”

➳➳➳➳

Matsukawa was so busy keeping the peace in his assigned part of the forest that he almost forgot that the Ranger Conference was a thing until he received summons via raven. He arrived late to the designated forest clearing and almost lost his footing on his tree branch once he saw who was addressing the rest of the Rangers.

He was cloaked like all the other Rangers, but his months of apprenticeship told him it was Takashi. Turns out, Takashi was a hotshot in the Ranger world. Go figure. Matsukawa shook himself out of his reverie to listen in.

“… and lately we’ve been recording greater numbers of deaths and disappearances of individual Rangers these past five years than in the past fifty years. I implore that all Rangers be on guard for any foul play. We act solo but don’t hesitate in requesting assistance.” Takashi’s hand subtly clutched at his chest under the cloak and Matsukawa’s eyebrows furrowed. What had happened in the past three months that caused his former mentor to look so unwell?

“And now I would like to call up anyone who wishes to share their findings on any abnormalities on the kingdom. After this, you’re dismissed for the night.” Takashi stepped away from the clearing to blend in with the shadows. Matsukawa moved to intercept him, leaving fading traces of silver in his wake.

“Takashi-san,” Matsukawa whispered, searching his face for any signs of unwellness. “What happened to you?”

Takashi glanced around them, a hint of alarm on his face. “It’s not safe to speak here, not with so many ears.” Takashi murmured, leading Matsukawa away from the edge of the clearing.

When they were a significant distance away, Takashi sighed. “I was in the capital visiting the royal advisors shortly after your initiation. After I left, there was a commotion by the castle gates. When I was distracted, someone must’ve used their Gift on me.” Takashi clutched at his chest, the cloak wrinkling beneath his fingers. “It feels like I’ve been poisoned – I constantly feel a flame burning and eating away at me from the inside out. But no known poison acts this way.”

Matsukawa murmured, “Do you think this is the reason behind the disappearances of the other Rangers?”

Takashi sighed, suddenly sounding much older than Matsukawa remembered him to be. “Fledgling, I pray not. Plus, it must be incredibly taxing for the person to maintain the effects of their Gift on me, much less a group of people all at the same time.” Takashi reaffirmed.

Sighing, Matsukawa raked a hand through his hair. “Thanks for the warning – it’s really worrying, but I’ll keep an eye out.” He patted his former mentor’s shoulder, silently alarmed by how bony it was under the cloak. “It was great to see you again, but I’ll see you next conference.”

Matsukawa stepped back and pulled the hood of his cloak over his head. He knelt on one knee, a hand clasped over his heart. He recited the customary farewell. “ _Lothron gwilith legin thál cín gwila.” (May the winds be swift and sure under your wings.)_

Takashi mirrored him, bowing his head to signal their status as equals. “ _Lótesse gwelu lani tanca nuin tye rimpe.” (And may the winds bless your flight onwards.)_

They both rose to their feet. Matsukawa turned away and leapt into the trees. Takashi lifting a hand in farewell. “Til next conference.” Little did they know, that was the last time they ever saw each other.

➳➳➳➳

Ever since the Takashi’s announcement at the last Ranger Conference, the entire Ranger community grew more uneasy with the steadily increasing number of disappearances. But the last nail in the coffin was the news of the Head Ranger’s passing.

Matsukawa refused to shed tears in memory of Takashi’s strength. Never again would he ruffle his hair and call him ‘fledgling.’ Never again would he stand up tall against the world. Never again would he throw his head back and laugh boisterously with others. Never again would he scare Matsukawa by dropping in on him from the trees.

The royal advisors sent out ravens about his passing, offering their condolences. But those condolences were empty in the space where a great man once stood. But the council refused to reveal any information about the circumstances of Takashi’s passing – how was it that they found out before anyone else? Rangers preferred to operate in secret and their affairs were purely their own.

That in itself was suspicious but Matsukawa, like most of the remaining Rangers, paid no heed to it and instead mourned the loss of a figure. It was only when they received urgent summons to the castle that the Ranger Community balked.

It was an unspoken rule that Rangers were never to be summoned to the castle – their home territory was the forests of Seijou and urgent summons never meant anything pleasant. Only the Head Ranger went into the capital when the royal family summoned him. It was only by orders of the Head Ranger that others would follow him into the capital. But with Takashi gone, no one knew what to do in his absence.

Many Rangers volunteered to go within a day of the summons. The rest of the community awaited their return, but as days passed, no word came from them. The castle stayed silent.

Matsukawa grimaced at that turn of events – it was safe to say that the royal advisors were no longer to be trusted. Days passed, then the declaration came. All Rangers were to ‘work side-by-side’ with members of the royal council. Failure to cooperate would result in harsh disciplining. Rangers scoffed at that. The declaration was ridiculous – no one but the King himself had the authority to do that.

But that was until there was word of the castle tracking down each Ranger and registering them. There were rumors of hideouts being set fire to, often with individuals who refused the council trapped inside. In the distance, Matsukawa saw distant trails of smoke, too far away to confirm the source but also far too large and long-lasting for it to be campfires. The smoke trails were approaching day by day.

Matsukawa made his decision. He’d grown to love being a Ranger, he’d be damned if he let the council take away that freedom. Now there wouldn’t be grave punishment if there was no one to punish, right?

Faking his own death was laughably easy. Matsukawa took one of his daggers and made a shallow cut on his left hand. The cloak that marked him as a Ranger was ripped and bloodied with his own hands. Matsukawa took his arrows, snapping them in half and strewing them around the area he chose. He mussed up the earth and grass, leaving drops of blood in his wake, and generally leaving evidence of a scuffle. Finally, he took what remained of his cloak and hung it on the crags of the cliff that overlooked the raging river.

Matsukawa the Ranger was dead – caught off guard by an ambush near the overlook and after a tussle, had fallen off the cliff never to be seen again. Now all that there was left was to leave and never come back.

➳➳➳➳

It wasn’t easy finding a new place to live. All Matsukawa took with him was his bow, daggers, small provisions, and the clothes he had on his back. He traversed different forests, tirelessly jumping from branch to branch. He finally arrived at the forest closest to the mountain range that bordered the Kingdom of Seijou. It was the perfect place for someone to disappear.

Day in, day out, Matsukawa worked on constructing his own cottage within the forest, reinforcing the structure with his Gift. After a long fortnight, the cottage was finally finished, complete with a shed and a small garden.

Matsukawa smiled ruefully; the cottage was reminiscent of the mountain cottage of his childhood. The last step was the most difficult. He backed away from the clearing, knelt on the ground, closed his eyes, and imagined drawing a steady circle around the perimeter of the clearing.

Slowly but surely, a silver barrier rose to envelop the entire clearing before blending with the environment. Opening his eyes, Matsukawa was slightly impressed with his work. If he hadn’t known any better, he would’ve assumed there to be a huge swath of trees in front of him. Pressing a hand forward, his barrier let him pass through. Matsukawa smirked, it was better than expected. He pushed himself up, wobbling slightly from overexertion. Maybe it would be better if he didn’t pull any more stunts for a while.

But of course, the universe decided to mess with him. Nearly a week later, Matsukawa was collecting firewood outside the barrier and making his way back to the barrier when he realized something was amiss. The small tugs on his consciousness wasn’t of his own doing. He carefully set the firewood down to draw his daggers from their sheathes. The barrier to the cottage was only a few steps ahead, but he wasn’t risking giving away the existence of the barrier with someone’s Gift at work. Readying his daggers, Matsukawa dropped into a battle stance when he felt the tugs getting harsher, more insistent.

He noticed a cloaked figure limping towards him at the corner of his eye. There were no obvious markings on the cloak, or what remained of it, but it was clear it wasn’t of Seijou make. The tattered fabric gave Matsukawa glimpses of pale arms and legs littered with cuts and bruises. Still on guard, he watched as the figure took labored steps, leaning on the trees to support his weight. The tugs on his mind got so powerful that Matsukawa knew that it was this individual’s Gift that was causing them. The figure lifted its gaze to lock onto Matsukawa’s face and a few tense seconds passed where none of them moved.

He noticed that the figure was clutching their chest in an achingly familiar way. Then it clicked – Takashi was privy to clutching his own chest in the last few months of his life. Past the hood, Matsukawa could make out a pair of amber eyes glimmering with exhaustion and hope. There was a moment of panic when Matsukawa no longer saw the glow of the figure’s eyes and the heavy tugging on his mind suddenly disappeared.

The figure slowly fell forward and Matsukawa swore, quickly sheathing his daggers before catching him in his arms. The hood fell to reveal a head of light pink hair and Matsukawa frowned at how feverish the man in his arms was. Matsukawa pressed a hand to the stranger’s forehead and drew back with a hiss. The stranger’s fever was dangerously high and it seemed he didn’t have much time left. Matsukawa would be damned if he left someone to die, especially someone who was suffering from the same thing Takashi had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any thoughts about Matsukawa's backstory? Gift? His first meeting with our favorite pink-haired boy? 
> 
> So to clear things up, a person's Gift is an innate skill, basically a means to control and manipulate one single aspect. But the wonderful things you can do with it is up to experimentation, control, and application. So each Gift can be summed up with one or two words.
> 
> (Bonus points if you can figure out Matsukawa's Gift <3)


	2. Hanamaki Takahiro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanamaki Takahiro's backstory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I SHOULD'VE been editing the chapters to my other fic, but I wanted some escapism instead so I wrote another chapter XD
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading it - this is based off the fact that no one else in Aoba Jousai has light-colored hair. Only Oikawa, Yahaba, and Kyoutani come close, but not to the same effect as Hanamaki's hair. So I made him a foreigner XD

Off to the north of Seijou was the nation of Namashi, known for its cold climate and its light-haired people. The snowstorms in Namashi were fierce and the mountain ranges that bordered Seijou provided a natural barrier between nations. Over time, its people slowly adapted to the cold climate and frequent snowfall. Their skin and hair became fair in color due to lack of sunlight.

Namashi was a barren nation, its soil incapable of growing anything to support themselves. As a result, the people relied on trade to sustain themselves. People either became sheepherders, hunters, or craftsmen to obtain the goods they could trade for food.

➳➳➳➳

“…looks too much like his damn father. Why couldn’t he take after his mother?” A low voice growled. Hanamaki rubbed his eyes, sitting up in his cot. Weak sunlight filtered through the window of the cottage, signaling that was already early morning.

Hanamaki wrinkled his nose. His stepfather, Muragami, must’ve been complaining about him again while his mother was out foraging. It was no secret Muragami hated him, even more so when Hanamaki decided to keep his father’s surname rather than assimilate into the family.

Hanamaki slid off the cot, beginning to fold the blankets to put them away. He kept an ear out for more of Muragami’s muttering. They were poor and their cottage reflected that. It was now summer, or what would be considered summer up north, but the cottage had cold drafts at night and the fur lining their clothes wasn’t enough to keep the chill at bay. Furthermore, the cottage only had two areas: a sleeping area and a cooking area. That made it easy for sound to carry, especially when the person in question wasn’t bothering to keep his voice down.

“… dunno why _Pinky,_ ” Muragami spit the name out like it offended him. If Hanamaki thought about it, it probably was offensive to his stepfather. “Decided to be a craftsman. He can’t earn a living while being apprenticed to a _cripple_. Even his bastard of a father had better sense than that and he was the one who took a little tumble off a cliff.”

Plastering a smile to his face, Hanamaki stepped outside. “Good morning, Muragami-san.” He greeted cordially to his stepfather, a man with short, sandy-colored hair sitting on chair outside.

Hanamaki turned his attention to whom his stepfather had been talking to. It must’ve one of the traders passing by, as if the man’s dark hair didn’t already mark him as a foreigner. Hanamaki gave a slight bow, “Good morning, how has trade been?”

Leaning against the railing of the porch, the foreigner gave him a critical once-over and Hanamaki shifted uncomfortably at how the man’s eyes raked over his sleepwear. “So this is Pinky, eh?” When Muragami grunted in affirmation, Hanamaki bristled slightly. The tradesman noticed him and waved a hand, “Don’t take it personally Pinky, I have trouble putting names to faces.”

Hanamaki knew he shouldn’t be taking it personally, but the man called him Pinky, a derogative term only used by his stepfather. He took a deep breath and bowed to the two men. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be late to my apprenticeship.” He didn’t wait for any answer as he headed back into the house.

Hanamaki hoped his flush of indignation wasn’t too apparent. God, he should’ve changed into thicker clothes before talking to his stepfather. But at the same time, he didn’t know his stepfather was talking to traders. He gripped the fabric of the thin nightwear. Shucking them off, he quickly pulled warmer clothes on and wrapped a cloak around his shoulders.

He reached with his Gift, identifying the mind he wanted to target. Time to notify his master that he was coming. Hiding a smile, he grabbed his master’s tendrils of consciousness and tugged lightly. He could already imagine his master jolting in surprise and dropping his tools across the village. That had happened enough times.

There was a loud bang from the door. “Boy! Don’t use your Gift! No Gifts around me!” Muragami single-handedly ended what was left of Hanamaki’s good mood. Hanamaki scowled at the door. That was another one of his stepfather’s unreasonable rules. He’d tried being as subtle as possible but his stepfather had it out for him and was always on guard for his Gift.

Hanamaki took a deep breath and pulled the hood of his cloak on. He preferably didn’t want to have another conversation with his stepfather and the strange foreigner again. But luck wasn’t on his side. When Hanamaki stepped out the door, he found that the dark-haired foreigner had a companion with him. He tried to sneak past them but his stepfather’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.

“Boy,” Muragami threatened with a low voice. “It’s rude to not say hi to guests.” He spared a glance at Hanamaki. “And take that ridiculous hood off, the sun’s out.”

Hanamaki glared at him from under the hood before shaking his stepfather’s hand off his wrist. He lowered his hood and bowed slightly to the two foreigners. “Nice to meet you.”

The dark-haired trader nudged at his companion. “That’s Pinky over there, have you ever seen anyone with pink hair?” His companion was suddenly behind Hanamaki and Hanamaki froze.

From behind Hanamaki, the man observed his hair very closely. “No, I have not.” Hanamaki glared at him and pulled the hood of his cloak on again to hide his hair. Nonplussed, the foreigner looked at Muragami. “Is he your son?”

Hanamaki bristled in anger. He was right there in front of them but the three men didn’t bother sparing him a glance now that his hood was up.

“No, just an extra mouth to feed.” The lazy answer came from Muragami, who was lying back on the chair. “He came with my wife when she remarried to me.” He chuckled, “His father took a tumble off a cliff when hunting.” He spit on the ground. “Good riddance, that man was scrawny, just like his son, he would’ve died sooner than later.”

Hanamaki had enough. ‘Just an extra mouth to feed?’ He was the household’s sole breadwinner, rich words coming from his stepfather who barely brought anything home. He was glad for the hood of the cloak because it hid his facial expression. He took a step forward. “My father was-”

“Your father was a weakling!” Muragami roared from his seat. “He was weak and he died for it! Like you!” He gestured at Hanamaki’s figure. “You’re just as scrawny and you would never survive!” He spit on the ground again. “Though I suppose that’s why you chose an apprenticeship to a _cripple_.”

Hanamaki drew in a sharp breath. Now his stepfather had done it. Hanamaki was furious. He was glad his mother wasn’t here for this. He opened his mouth for a scathing remark.

“Aye, but he sure is a beauty.” One of the foreigners spoke up. Hanamaki whipped around to face him.

Muragami snorted. “He sure got that from his mother. But everything else,” He waved a dismissive hand. “Boy looks exactly like his father.”

Hanamaki levelled a glare at his stepfather and snapped his jaw shut. It would do him no good to yell at him now. Reining back his anger, he bowed again to the three men. “I must go for my apprenticeship, please excuse me.” He whipped around and walked quickly down the path to the village.

On the short walk there, Hanamaki was glad he brought his cloak. Wind descending from the mountains blew across the land and Hanamaki shivered, wrapping the cloak tighter around himself. He’d made the cloak last winter under the watchful eye of his master. But it was now summer and Hanamaki could already tell he’d grown since. The cloak, which used to brush against the ground, was now at his ankles and exposing the bare skin there. Hanamaki took the rest of his walk as a chance to cool his head.

In no time, he’d arrived to his master’s place. Hanamaki peeked in through the window. It looked like his master was in the back room. Perfect, he’d be able to sneak in. He fiddled with the lock on the front door and it eventually gave way. Quickly letting himself in and shutting the door with a click, Hanamaki lowered the hood of his cloak. He let his Gift reach out and tug on a presence it was well-acquainted with. Making sure to give a large tug, he kept an ear out.

Sure enough, with Hanamaki’s Gift tugging at his master’s mind, there was a small crash in the back room with some muffled expletives. Hanamaki covered his mouth with his hand, stifling his giggling.

“Hanamaki Takahiro! You ‘lil shit!” A large man stormed out from the back room, prosthetic leg thumping with every step. “What if I was handling clay in the back?”

Hanamaki plastered an innocent grin on his face. “Takamoto-san, isn’t that exactly what you were doing? I remember Hiroko-san requesting a new bowl the other day.”

Takamoto huffed, clearly used to Hanamaki’s antics. “Never mind that, it’s easy enough to replace.” He bent down to take a closer look at Hanamaki’s face. “What took you so long to get here? You tugged on my mind earlier so I was expecting you to come sooner.”

Hanamaki grimaced, looking to the side. “Muragami-san dragged me into a conversation with some traders before I went out.” He unclasped his cloak and took it off, hanging it on a hook. “Gave me the same shit about my father and my hair.” _And about you._

Takamoto sighed, leaning back on the worktable. “Ain’t nothing you can do to choose your family.” He’d easily picked up on what Hanamaki deigned to say. “Did he give you shit about your Gift as always?”

Hanamaki nodded, rolling his sleeves up to join Takamoto at the worktable. “Same old, same old. I can’t wait to become of age.”

Takamoto laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You have the skill set to make it on your own. Truth be told, you’ve stopped being my apprentice since last winter when you made your cloak on your own.” He nodded in the direction of the cloak on the hook. “Speaking of which, how’s the cloak holding up?”

Hanamaki smirked. “Well I definitely grew so…” He trailed off, waiting for Takamoto’s response.

His master didn’t disappoint. Takamoto raised an eyebrow. “No way, you were already a beanpole. You can’t grow any taller, I forbid you to!” He wagged a finger at Hanamaki. “If you outgrow me, I might just leave this town in shame. When the pupil bests his master in height,” He shook his head in despair. “It’s time for the master to leave.”

Hanamaki grinned, smacking his master playfully. “Enough of that, you drama queen. What’s there to do today?”

Instantly, Takamoto’s expression cleared and he pointed to the list at the corner of the worktable. “So while I was waiting for you, I listed the things we needed to get done today and I took stock of our supplies in the back.” He glared playfully at Hanamaki, “Be thankful I didn’t shatter the clay bowl I’d promised Hiroko-san.” He pushed on, gesturing to the second thing on the list. “This is one of the finer things we have to make. I’d usually pass this request over to the blacksmith, but…”

Hanamaki knew. Ever since the old blacksmith died without an apprentice, there was no one to take over. He nodded, “So we’ll have to make do with our Gifts.”

Takamoto snapped his fingers at him. “Exactly. You feel up for it?” Hanamaki nodded, excited for the chance to use his Gift extensively.

“Great, so we’re making a vase today for the mayor’s daughter. So normally a person would need a tools and a way to blow glass, but we can draw off your Gift.” Takamoto explained. “We’ll need heat the glass in the furnace.”

Then it clicked for Hanamaki. “So while the glass is malleable, I’ll use my Gift to shape it and blow it. No contact needed.”

“You got it!” Takamoto slapped him on the back. “Kid, we’re practically equals now.” He continued, “I’ll be using my own Gift to spot any imperfections. Glass is finicky, you don’t want something going wrong. And!” He held up a finger, grinning. “If we have any glass leftover from the process, feel free to make something for yourself.”

Hanamaki grinned at him, shooting him a thumbs up. “Let’s do it then!”

➳➳➳➳

Hanamaki let the sweat trickle down his forehead, his hands held out to suspend the molten glass in the air. Besides him, Takamoto observed the glass unblinkingly until he stated, “It’s ready, lift it out and start shaping it.”

Hanamaki took a deep breath and concentrated, drawing the molten glass out of the furnace. He suspended the glass above the furnace and focused his Gift on shaping the glass into a cylindrical shape.

“Good, good.” Takamoto coaxed from behind him. “Place it back in and rotate it evenly. Make sure it stays horizontal as you do so.”

Hanamaki wordlessly lowered the cylindrical molten glass back into the furnace and began rotating it.

“Hm, I think you can afford to rotate it more slowly.” Takamoto whispered, his Gift zooming in on the bottom of the cylinder. “And bring it closer to you.” Hanamaki heeded his instructions. And after a while, Takamoto hummed. “Alright kid, time for the most nerve-wracking part. Time to ‘blow’ into the glass.”

Hanamaki groaned from his place in front of the furnace. It was already difficult enough getting this far into the process. He drew the molten glass closer to him and started introducing some air into the glass cylinder.

“Easy does it, your opening is far too large. The mayor’s daughter wanted a slim design.” Takamoto coached from the side. “My Gift can’t see any imperfections yet. You’re doing well, ‘Hiro. Keep turning it as you ‘blow’ it.”

Hanamaki cupped his hands around his mouth, blowing steady breaths into the cylinder rotating in front of him. He had never used his Gift so extensively before and he could feel himself getting tired.

“Alright, looks great for a first try! The mayor’s daughter should be happy with this.” Takamoto clapped, nearly startling Hanamaki. “Oops, my bad. Draw the glass out and leave it in the oven to cool.”

Hanamaki drew it out, hands shaking with the strain to keep it suspended. As soon as he set the glass vase down in the oven, he sighed and dropped to his knees in exhaustion.

Takamoto hobbled over into Hanamaki’s field of vision. “So how do you feel?”

Hanamaki sent him a half-hearted glare. “You slave driver,” he panted, wiping his sweat with the back of his hand. “I’m exhausted.”

Takamoto grinned. “Oh really? Are you too exhausted to deal with the leftover glass?”

Hanamaki perked at the mention of that. Despite his exhaustion, his fingers itched to make something of his own. “Bastard.” He muttered half-heartedly, to which Takamoto responded with a laugh.

Takamoto hobbled away. “Well I know you want to make something for your mother, so I’ll leave you to it.” He took a look at the next item on the list. “Well next is a wood carving to replace a family’s surname sign. After that is basket weaving for the summer foraging. You can already do all these easily, so I won’t make you do them.” He turned to face Hanamaki, but his student wasn’t paying attention.

The pink-haired teenager was kneeling in front of the furnace with hands outstretched, suspending yet another piece of molten glass above the heat. Takamoto chuckled to himself, eyes gazing fondly down at his former student. The village was now filled with more elders than children and truth be told, life in the outskirts of Namashi were like that. Takamoto sighed. He knew that once Hanamaki became of age, he would leave the village. The pink-haired teenager carried with him a spark of something Takamoto himself had in his youth. There was no way Hanamaki would live the rest of his days on the outskirts of a poor nation. Takamoto turned and hobbled away on his prosthetic. He was getting too old for this kind of sentiment.

➳➳➳➳

When Hanamaki raised his head from his own project with glass, it was already past lunch time. He sighed and lowered the glass orb into the oven to cool.

Takamoto pushed a plate of food towards Hanamaki. “Eat,” he encouraged. “I took a look with my Gift and it came out pretty well.” He watched as Hanamaki chewed the bread. “The orb’s empty – what’s your plan for it?”

Speaking between bites, Hanamaki told him. “My mother’s birthday is coming up. And she used to tell me stories of why I was named after the word ‘flower’ when I was younger. She always found them beautiful, especially when we live on barren land.” He swallowed his bread. “Father used to bring her back wildflowers from his hunts and she would press them. But when they’re pressed, the flowers weren’t as colorful and it always made me sad.”

Hanamaki gestured to the orb cooling in the oven. “If you noticed, the bottom is flattened and I’m able to detach the top dome. I plan on filling it with clear resin to preserve the flower I’ll put inside. It’ll be a pretty paperweight.”

Takamoto nodded in understanding. “And you have a flower in mind? The orb itself is pretty small, the size of a marble.”

“When it’s filled with resin, it’ll feel dense. And there are a lot of snowdrops in the back of Mayumi-san’s cottage – I asked her for permission.” Hanamaki finished his lunch and stretched, purposefully cracking his back and neck.

Takamoto winced at the sounds and Hanamaki smirked. “Only old men would cringe at that.”

Takamoto lightly cuffed him in the back of the head. “Brat.” He paused, glancing down at the list. “Then why don’t you help this ‘old man’ organize the back room while you wait for the glass to cool?”

In the back room, the two of them began to take inventory. Hanamaki volunteered to climb the ladder for obvious reasons, glancing at his master’s prosthetics. From there, he busied himself, counting the planks of wood there was and relaying the numbers back to Takamoto, who noted it down in a small bound book.

Hanamaki smirked from above, watching his master record the materials. He reached out with his Gift and tugged as hard as he could on the tendrils of Takamoto’s consciousness. As planned, Takamoto jumped and dropped his pencil, muttering expletives. Hanamaki stifled his snickers behind his hand.

“You!” Takamoto shook a fist at Hanamaki. “I can’t go a day without you doing that with your Gift!”

Childishly, Hanamaki stuck a tongue out at Takamoto. “You can’t stop me! Plus, you find it endearing!” He called back down to where Takamoto stood.

“Oh shush,” Takamoto waved him off, “Hurry up and tell me how much straw we have for weaving!”

Hanamaki turned back to face the shelves. “Not denying it now, are we?” He muttered to himself.

“What did you just say?”

“We have thirty-six stacks of straw!”

“I don’t think that’s what you said, but I’ll take it! I recorded everything up there now. Come back down!”

Hanamaki climbed down the ladder and dusted himself off. Takamoto hobbled up to him and cuffed him on the side of the head. “That’s for your prank earlier. You’re welcome.”

Hanamaki smirked, “No, I should be the one saying, ‘you’re welcome’ to you.”

“Brat. Take a break from counting and go pick your flowers from Mayumi-san.” Takamoto huffed out.

“Yes, father.” Hanamaki drawled out mockingly before exiting out the back. “I’ll be back.”

This left Takamoto in a daze. Did that brat just address him as a father?

➳➳➳➳

“I’m back!” Hanamaki called out. “Has the glass been fully cooled?”

Takamoto’s voice was muffled from the backroom. “It should be! Go ahead and use the clear resin. You know where it’s kept.”

“Hai!” Hanamaki answered, careful not to damage the snowdrop in his hands. He went down the shelves, muttering the names of the labels to himself. “Let’s see… Lacquer, Amber, Amber Resin, and ah, there it is!” He pulled the bottle labeled ‘Clear Resin’ off the shelf. “Perfect.”

Takamoto emerged from the back room just as Hanamaki finished filling the orb with the clear resin and sealing it. “How’s this look?” Hanamaki held the orb up to Takamoto’s eyes.

Takamoto nodded in approval. “It looks great – your mother would love it.” He glanced out the window. “It’s summer so there’s still some light outside. Do you want to stay for dinner?”

Hanamaki shook his head, “I’ll have dinner at home. I want to give this to my mother early. Surprise her and all that.” He made his way over to the hook where his cloak hung from. “Do you want me to deliver anything?”

Takamoto waved him off. “Since there’s still some light, I think I’ll deliver the vase to the mayor’s daughter. But I’ll leave everything else for tomorrow.” He eased the vase out of the oven. “Great job on the vase today – it’s incredible for your first try.”

“Cuz I’m incredible, Takamoto-san.” Hanamaki grinned. “I’ll help you deliver everything else tomorrow morning then.”

“Go home then. Make sure you rest.” Takamoto fixed him with a firm glare. “No protesting – I know making the glass pieces today took a lot out of your Gift. You must be exhausted.”

Hanamaki visibly deflated. “Yeah, I’m exhausted now that you mention it.” He opened the front door, gazing at the well-worn path ahead. “I’ll be heading out now. Can’t wait to show this to mother!” He held up the small glass orb in his hand.

“Go and tell me how it goes tomorrow when we’re out delivering.” Takamoto smiled at him. “Good work.”

The door closed behind Hanamaki with a resounding click.

➳➳➳➳

Hanamaki shivered from the breeze and wrapped his cloak around himself more tightly. The cold wind bit at his ankles and he frowned. He’d have to get his cloak adjusted tomorrow. He clutched at the orb in his hands and hurried forward on the path. But suddenly he couldn’t take another step. The wind blew the hood of his cloak off.

“Hey, Pinky.” The dark-haired foreigner from the morning stepped out from behind him and entered Hanamaki’s field of vision. “Did you miss me?” Hanamaki opened his mouth but no sound came out. Where was the foreigner’s companion?

“You shouldn’t be able to make a sound.” The dark-haired companion stated, suddenly appearing besides Hanamaki. “Or move a muscle.”

Hanamaki glared at them in frustration. He could only blink and breathe evenly. The way the man had taken control of his body’s movements so easily hinted that maybe the man was practiced in this.

The first man stepped closer to Hanamaki. “Do you like our Gifts? Perhaps later we can show you another _use_ for our Gifts.” Behind him, his companion stifled a laugh. “It’ll be enjoyable!” The man continued before pausing. “Well maybe not for you.”

Hanamaki felt sick to the stomach, realizing the insinuation behind the man’s words. Then he fought back in the only way he knew how. He reached for all the tendrils he could find with his Gift and tugged as hard as he could.

“What’s he doing?”

“Shit, I think he’s doing the thing his stepfather yelled at him for.”

“What are we waiting for? Let’s take him already.”

Suddenly there was a knife at Hanamaki’s neck and an arm slung over his shoulder. “Sorry sweetie, but you don’t want to make it difficult for us.” The knife dug into Hanamaki’s neck and he could feel a drop of blood trailing down. “I’ll remove my Gift from your body so you can move. But only towards our caravan.” The knife pressed down harder on his neck. “Trust me, I would knock you out instead, but I wouldn’t want to bruise you too much.”

The effects of the Gift on Hanamaki’s body eased up and he was able to move. He threw his head back, effectively knocking his skull into the man’s face.

“You fucker!” The man clutched at his nose, knife lying forgotten on the ground.

Hanamaki dropped down to avoid the man lunging at him. He grabbed the knife and ran in the opposite direction. Already exhausted from overusing his Gift, it didn’t take long for the companion to materialize besides him. Hanamaki was slammed into the ground, face pressed into the dirt as his arm was pinned to his back.

His captor muttered, “It wouldn’t have come to this if you’d come quietly,” before twisting Hanamaki’s hands. Hanamaki let out a silent gasp of pain, forced to let go of the knife and the glass orb he’d been protecting.

The other man had caught up to them, hand still clutched to his nose. He eyed the glass orb rolling in front of him and stepped on it with a decisive crunch. “Fucking Pinky, you’re not worth the amount I paid your stepfather.”

Hanamaki let out a silent sob of despair, eyes fixed on the lone snowdrop lying amongst the resin. The orb he’d worked so hard for was crushed underfoot so easily. He twisted his head to glare at the man with his knee on his back. So they were working with his stepfather after all. This was too much to process. He let a single tear roll down his face before closing his eyes.

The man scoffed, watching Hanamaki despair. “There ya go. He’s one of those types – mention family and he’s suddenly docile. We should’ve mentioned it from the very beginning. Don’t worry, that money will be put to good use. It’s for your unborn sibling, you see. Your _stepfather_ thought it more prudent to replace a bastard child with his own.”

He crouched down to be closer to eye level with Hanamaki. “Now look at you, you’re not as pretty anymore.” He traced the outline of Hanamaki’s lips and Hanamaki tried drawing back in disgust, only to find that he couldn’t. “No more fighting, Pinky.”

His companion threw Hanamaki’s uncooperative body over his shoulder and began walking. Tears streaming down his face, Hanamaki could only watch as the small glass shards where the orb used to be became smaller and smaller with the distance.

➳➳➳➳

Takamoto had just finished delivering the vase to the mayor’s daughter when suddenly, there was an insistent tug on his mind. He furrowed his eyebrows, hands coming to clutch at his head. Never had he felt Hanamaki’s tugging so insistently. It was so different from his usual mischievous tugs. It was more like- Takamoto froze. It was more like a cry for help.

Immediately he switched directions on the path he was on. He quickly hobbled down the path leading to Hanamaki’s home.

Takamoto’s blood ran cold when he happened upon a fallen knife and signs of a scuffle. Dirt was disturbed in a large area and looking closer, he noticed drops of blood on the ground. There were small shards of glass and there was a lone snowdrop drying out in clear resin. Takamoto bent down to grab the knife and hobbled faster.

When the caravan came into view, he saw two dark-haired foreigners loading something into the back of the wagon. Using his Gift, Takamoto zoomed in on the sight and growled. Hanamaki was bound, gagged, and blindfolded as he was being shoved into the wagon.

“Stop! Stop!” Takamoto hobbled forward. “What do you think you’re doing?” He growled, brandishing the knife.

Hanamaki perked up at the sound of his voice, turning his head frantically to find the source. The foreigners exchanged glances.

“Well, well, well,” The man drawled out, jumping from the back of the wagon. “Looks like Pinky’s Gift brought a friend. It’s the _cripple_.”

The other man remained in the wagon and aimed a kick at Hanamaki’s ribs. There was a small groan, muffled by the gag, and Hanamaki hunched over in pain.

“You will stop that! He’s my son!” Takamoto lunged towards the man in front of him, blinded by rage.

The dark-haired man in front of him smirked. “Well this isn’t fair – you have a knife.” He ducked out of reach from Takamoto’s swing. “Plus, I’m pretty sure Pinky’s father is dead. But your meeting _can_ be arranged.” He kicked at Takamoto’s prosthetic.

Takamoto hit the ground with the wind knocked out of lungs. He opened his mouth to yell, only to find that he couldn’t make a sound. He turned his head to the man still in the caravan, who only sent him a devious smirk.

The man maintained eye contact with Takamoto and reached down, dragging Hanamaki up by the hair. Hanamaki made stifled noises of pain and was forced to bare his neck. “Shhh, why don’t you listen.” The man whispered into Hanamaki’s ear and Hanamaki whimpered in response.

The dark-haired man on the ground came up to Takamoto and stomped on his arm, forcing Takamoto to let go of the knife with a silent hiss. His blood ran cold as he finally figured out their plan. He tried getting up, only to realize he couldn’t move. The man bent down to pick up the knife.

“Pinky,” his eyes gleamed murderously. “Maybe we should teach you a lesson on what happens when you call for help and fight back.” He suddenly drove the knife into Takamoto’s abdomen. There was no other sounds aside from the slick sounds of blood and from his place on the caravan, Hanamaki let out a muffled wail and began thrashing in bonds.

Through the hazy pain of being stabbed, Takamato used his Gift and caught sight of the tears escaping the bottom of Hanamaki’s blindfold.

The man who stabbed him leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Now stay down, won’t ya?” He flipped the knife and stabbed Takamoto again. “It’d be troublesome if you came after us.”

Takamoto’s vision flickered and he caught sight of the knife, dyed red in blood. Turning his head, he watched Hanamaki struggle in his bonds, almost inconsolable in his grief. He smiled wryly. His son was smart – he knew what happened from sound alone. He let out a sigh, soundlessly whispering, “ _I’m sorry… Takahiro, my son…_ ”

➳➳➳➳

Hanamaki thrashed around, trying to escape the man’s grip in his hair. He bucked and fell forward, knees hitting the ground.

“Oops, can’t have you throwing yourself at the ground now, can we?” A pair of strong arms caught Hanamaki’s shoulders. “Relax, I only put an end to a nuisance. He called you his son, how funny is that? What a liar.”

Hanamaki deflated and felt himself getting dragged back into the caravan by another pair of arms. Takamoto was the fatherly figure in his life. The first time he called Hanamaki son was also the last. More tears escaped his blindfold.

He heard a mutter. “Ugh, I need to clean the- Wait.” Footsteps approached him and Hanamaki flinched back. “Here’s a little souvenir from your _father,_ Pinky.” He felt the cold edge of the knife brush against his tear trails. A moment passed when Hanamaki realized what it was that the man had smeared on his face. It was his father’s blood. He jerked away from the knife and hit his head on the side of the wagon. “That’ll teach you,” the man spat out.

➳➳➳➳

It felt as if years had passed while Hanamaki was stuck in the back of the wagon. Blindfolded, he couldn’t tell the time of day. With every bump on the road, the rough rope around his wrists and ankles dug in deeper and from behind his gag, Hanamaki stifled his whimpers of pain. The tears wouldn’t stop and Hanamaki knew it would only result in dehydration, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Instead, he nurtured his Gift deep inside him, biding his time.

The wagon jerked to a stop and Hanamaki felt his head collide against the side of the wagon again. Footsteps approached and he curled in on himself. But to no avail, the blindfold was ripped off his eyes and he blinked in surprise. The harsh morning light shone through the tops of the trees- Wait. He was no longer in Namashi. Namashi’s soil could never support such tall trees.

“We’ve crossed the border some time ago. Should we administer it now?”

“Yeah, Boss said to do it right after we capture them. But with all the excitement-” The man aimed another kick at Hanamaki’s ribs and Hanamaki let out a broken sob at the mention of Takamoto. “-we’ve forgotten to.”

“Alright, I got it out.” Hanamaki turned his head in time to see a gleaming syringe. “Boss said it’s slow-acting, so I hope it kicks in before we hand him in.”

“Forget that, just stick him.” The other man turned to face the sun. “We’ve got a quota to meet.”

Hanamaki was grabbed by his hair and he was forced to bare his neck again. The needle jabbed unpleasantly into Hanamaki’s neck and the man was forced to hold him down as he pushed the plunger on the contents of the syringe. Hanamaki curled up in pain once he was released, groans muffled by his gag.

With a jerk, the wagon began moving again and thankfully, the men forgot to replace Hanamaki’s blindfold. As Hanamaki watched the landscape pass by with glassy eyes, he drew on his Gift and bid his time. But while he did so, he felt a burning fire growing uncontrollably in his chest.

When the wagon finally slowed, the men jumped down to make camp within the forest. One of them came up to Hanamaki with a wet rag and wiped what remained of Takamoto’s blood and Hanamaki’s own tears. Hanamaki gave him the cold shoulder and the man scoffed. “What a pretty sight you make, Pinky. We’d have to wait ‘til you’re all healed up before we have _fun_.”

Hanamaki ignored him and instead concentrated on his Gift welling up inside him. He ignored the inferno roaring inside his chest – he didn’t want to think about what was in the syringe. It didn’t take long for the men to fall asleep. They didn’t bother keeping watch, all too comfortable in their own country. That would be their downfall.

Hanamaki waited for their breathing to even out. Stretching out the reach of his Gift, he grabbed ahold of both of their consciousness. He’d grown accustomed to their presence during the wagon trip. Taking a deep breath, Hanamaki put all of his strength into pulling their threads down, praying for them to _don’t wake up, don’t wake up, don’t wake up_. Little did he know, the two men would never wake. The fire raged with greater intensity within his chest and Hanamaki bit his lip to stifle his whimpers of pain.

Hanamaki spotted the jagged corner of the wagon and inched towards it, eager to escape his bonds. Rubbing the rope around his wrists on the jagged wood, it didn’t take long before the rope frayed and fell apart behind him. Time to get the rope off his ankles. He tugged at the rope around his ankles and they gave way under duress from the jagged wood. He finally tore the gag from his mouth, coughing quietly as he grasped his throat.

Hanamaki panted, exhaustion creeping in on his vision. He tried stepping out of the wagon and only succeeded in collapsing into a heap. He was far too weak for this. He clutched at his chest. Whatever the men had injected him with had to do with the pains in his chest. Hanamaki had to run.

Hanamaki staggered to his feet and ran in the opposite direction of where the men were headed. He prayed the men wouldn’t wake from the sudden noise. His sprinting didn’t last long – his running gave way to a slow jog, which gave way to Hanamaki’s slow trudging. With the last of his Gift, Hanamaki extended his reach. There wasn’t a human being in the area, except for-

Hanamaki focused his Gift and began tugging on the lone mind within the forest. _Help me_. _Please_. Hanamaki begged silently, trudging onwards. He began leaning on the tree trunks to support himself. His cloak hung shredded on his form and Hanamaki knew how terrible he looked. His mouth was beyond dry and Hanamaki bet his throat was wrecked from his time in the wagon. His hand clutched at his chest, he could barely deal with the pain stemming from his chest. _Help me. Please_.

Hanamaki looked up and met eyes with another dark-haired foreigner, brandishing twin daggers defensively at him. His heart skipped a beat but instinctively he knew, the foreigner was different from those two men who’d kidnapped him. _Thank goodness_. He finally succumbed to the darkness that was encroaching the edges of his vision. _He was safe_. Instead of hitting the hard ground like he expected, he was met with a warm embrace, which he melted into. _Thank you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be focused on Hanamaki's recovery so I hope you look forward to that! (Lol, imagine our favorite Ranger nursing our sick foreigner)
> 
> P.S. Bonus points if you can figure out anyone's Gift!


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